One by one, the streetlights passed Missy by as she stared out the window of the bus.  Everyone else had passed out by now, exhausted from the final show of the tour, but she couldn’t sleep.  Even as the rain tapping on the window made her drowsy, she was restless.  She shut her eyes and lay her head against the cool glass.  She knew this day would come, but in the whirlwind of everything that had happened these past few months, she’d managed to distract herself from accepting it.   The party was over.  It was time to go back home and back to reality.  Get back in the studio or do some other shit.  Who knew.  All she knew is that she missed Pickles already.

In spite of it all, a small smile crossed her face.  She thought back fondly on the morning before.  It seemed like a million miles away from where she was right now.  The sun poured in through the blinds of the hotel, basking the bed in light and warmth.  She had been roused awake by the feeling of two arms coiling around her waist, a pair of lips brushing her neck, and a hard-on pressed against her back.  She cozied back up against him.

“Y’ awake?” he mumbled against her skin. 

“Nuh-uh…”

A soft chuckle followed, then another kiss on her neck.

“Gotta big day… but ‘m with ya… Don’ wanna get up yet…  Don’ wanna letcha go…”  His hold on her tightened.  “Wanna enjoy ya while I gotcha.”

The softness in his tone was a tad uncharacteristic.  Maybe she was projecting, but she swore he sounded the teensiest bit disappointed.  This was amplified when he sighed, resting his forehead on her shoulder.  She managed to twist around in his hold so she could see him.  He looked like a mess.  Neither of them were in flattering states.  His eyes were bloodshot, either from sleep or hangover, but the red only made the green of his pupils look more vivid.  His hair was all over the place, so she brought her hand up to adjust one of his dreads.  His hand caught hers as she went to pull it away, and he pressed his lips to the back of it.

“Not to be a pussy, but I had fun, Miss,” he said, looking into her eyes.  “A lotta fun.”

“Me too…”  The longer she gazed at him, the more her heart ached knowing that soon they’d go their separate ways.  She shut her eyes, trying not to let them get misty, but failing.  “God.  This sucks.”

When her voice cracked, Pickles pulled her closer and squeezed her.

“Ah-ah…  Don’t start cryin’ on me, Missy.  The party’s not over yet,” he said.  “I mean, I like ya, but I gotta be honest… I probably won’t visit you.  I don’t leave the house much.  Charles gets his panties in a wad an’ it’s just a huge fuckin’ hassle.”

She hid her face against his chest, and he could feel the moisture dampen his bare skin.  He gave her another comforting squeeze.

“But you’re welcome to show up at Mordhaus anytime.  Say the word, I’m sure I can send something out to come pick you up.  I can’t go back to being strangers.  Not after all this fun we’ve had.  You know that, right?”  He frowned when she didn’t answer.  “Right, Missy?  Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, now reddened with tears.  It was embarrassing to get upset like this in front of him, but he didn’t crack a joke or a smile or anything.  The way he looked at her, she knew that things had changed.

“You know that, right?” he earnestly asked again.  “You know you can see me anytime you want.  That this… isn’t a fling.”

The sorrow on her face eased.

“It isn’t?”

“Fuck no.  Not to me,” he said.  “I don’t even care if the guys give me shit.  If I didn’t hate my douchebag family, you’d be the type of girl I’d bring home.”

A big goofy smile broke out on Missy’s face.  She could hardly believe her ears.

“… Really?”

“Fuck yeah!” Pickles assured her.  He kissed her forehead.  “Now, I know what’ll make you feel better.  Let’s have one more for the road.”

Their lips met.  The stale taste of last night’s booze and sleep didn’t faze them as he guided her to lay back on the mattress and rolled on top of her.  Everything fell into place so effortlessly.  Her arms and legs wrapped around him.  He settled between her legs, indulging her in that familiar stretch she had grown to love.  He established a rhythm heavy and steady enough to suit a heavy metal drummer and bassist like them… but it was surprisingly slow.  Pickles was taking his time.  Each roll of his hips was deliberate and precise, perfectly filling Missy and drawing out satisfied moans that filled his mouth that he’d yet to pry away from hers.

It was… strange, she remembered thinking at the time.  Not unpleasant, just… different.  She knew this was special, but couldn’t put her finger on why.  They had done so much over their time together, but nothing like this.  The strangest thing to her was how… normal they were being.  They were both sober.  They weren’t doing anything sleazy or kinky.

Then, it hit her.  The way he held her.  The way he kissed her.  The way their bodies moved in perfect synchronicity.

They weren’t fucking.

They were making love.

Somewhere along the way, between the shows and the rides to the next venue, in the midst of the benders and the trips they’d shared, as well as the late-night chats and quiet early mornings in each other’s company, they had fallen in love.  He never once said the words, but to be fair, neither did she.  While they would have been nice to hear, and even nicer to speak, they weren’t necessary and quite frankly, would have complicated the moment.

In the present, Missy sighed, brushing away the stray tear as it rolled down her cheek.  In spite of the bittersweet memory, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as easily.